Winning
by Brochelle
Summary: The deeper he got into the ship, the more body piles he noticed. At one location, an entire corner had been consumed by the Flood's mass; spindly tendrils choked the lighting fixtures and dug into the walls like roots through concrete. Roughly based on Halo CE/post-Halo 4. Spoilers for both.


"Analyzing data. Whatever this stuff is, its genetic makeup is partially _human_." Cortana paused. In the corner of the helmet's HUD, her face contorted into an expression of disgust and shock. "Either we're related to it, or it's just absorbing human hosts to gain mass."

John nudged the pile of rot-colored slime with his boot, noting with slight revulsion that it had the texture of moldy fruit. Collections of it were stuck into the corners of the hall, growing along the crannies and none too subtle in size. He'd seen the Flood awkwardly dragging corpses into small piles during his treks across Halo's surface. It was possible he was looking at the result of the Flood's clumsy efforts.

In which case, he was looking at blended rot; bodies mingled together like some volatile cocktail of corpses. This was one of the many times he was thankful for his helmet's air filters. He didn't want to know what the stuff smelled like.

"I think I prefer the latter," he murmured. His curiosity sated, John turned his attention back to the ship itself, looking for physical signs of the Forerunner A.I.'s intrusion. The hunt for Guilty Spark was going slow; they knew his approximate location, but a combination of Flood forces and the Sentinels - the floating, annoying Forerunner watchdogs - were keeping them from reaching Spark as quickly as he would have liked. Not to mention the _Pillar of Autumn_'s remaining systems were doing their damnedest to keep all convenient doorways sealed.

Cortana scoffed, the corner of her lip twitched into a half-smile as she cocked an eyebrow. "You and me both. As nasty as it sounds, the idea that it originated from humanity is a little _too_mysterious for my taste." The smile faded. "If those Forerunner records were accurate, we need to move faster. Apparently, if the Flood population reaches a certain number, they will form a hive mind; and the last thing we need is a smart enemy, Chief."

He nodded, though in reflection he wasn't sure if his A.I. companion could tell if he'd made the gesture.

As John moved down the hallway, he realized that for the first time in days, it was quiet: the Sentinels' laser weapons weren't firing away and cooking the ozone, the Flood weren't screaming their lamentations, and the constant rattle of gunfire was eerily absent. Were he not about to get vaporized by an ancient, planet-sized, ring-shaped artifact, he would have appreciated the lull in conflict.

"Alright, I'm reading local taps into the data network. Three floors up. Let's see if I can't find a backdoor for you..." Cortana trailed off as she focused. He caught a brief glimpse of her furrowed brow before her feed cut out and winked away from the HUD. Seconds later, a door opened, a few feet ahead of him. Judging by its size, it was clearly meant as a service tunnel - and clearly not for Spartans.

"Sorry. Watch your head."

John walked forward and peered down the dark tunnel. A few red service lights glowed at intervals, flashing their testament to the ship's rapid deterioration, giving the enclosed space a suitably malevolent look. Without allowing himself another thought, John ducked into the tunnel and used the walls to guide himself down the length.

"Need something to sail by?" Cortana asked.

He didn't have to see her face to know she was smiling.

"Thanks."

A small arrow appeared on his HUD. Following it with his eyes, John took a left when the tunnel split in two. Soon, he saw another door, which slid open at his approach. In preparation of a fight, the Spartan raised his assault rifle and stared down the sights.

As he stepped out into the light, he found himself frowning. The tunnel had emptied him into another hallway, and facing a row of escape hatches, but nowhere could he see a way to get three levels up. Mildly irritated, he dropped his stance and slung his rifle over his shoulder. At both ends of the hall, there were doors; both doors were labeled with a red light. He was locked in.

"Cortana-"

"Working on an alternate route... got it. If you can get me in the system, I can pry those doors - to the left - open."

John looked to the escape hatches. They lined the wall, from door to door, which made this a whole wing in itself - which also meant that there would be direct access to the Autumn's systems through a terminal, as per standard UNSC ship design. He spotted one farthest from the door he would need to go through, and sprinted to it.

Carefully, he slid Cortana's chip out of his helmet and fed it into the terminal's port. Within nanoseconds, Cortana's shapely blue avatar sprung to life from a small holotank. Her short hair swung around her jaw as she turned and looked up at him, pinning him with an intense stare. Her lips were pursed.

"What is it?"

"It's that _glorified lightbulb_," she said scathingly. "He's pulling data straight from the memory banks, and there's nothing I can do to stop him."

"Does he pose as a threat to humanity?" John asked, his voice low. He knew from experience how powerful Cortana was, and the idea that an A.I. existed that she couldn't beat didn't rest easily with him; especially when that same A.I. hadn't expressed overwhelming kindness toward him or the rest of the UNSC. He didn't like the idea of unleashing that sort of force on humanity.

"Possibly. He certainly has his priorities in order; _we_might just be an obstruction."

"What do you recommend?"

She shot him a brilliant grin. "I thought you'd never ask. We can try and confront him, three floors up, or we can destroy the Autumn's reactors. The blast will destroy Halo and, if we're lucky, Spark."

"What about the Flood?"

Smile dimming, Cortana placed a slim hand to her semi-translucent forehead in concentration. She turned away from him; in the movement, he saw the ghost of a rib cage flash through her opaque upper torso. Eventually, she looked at him again. Her eyes were widened somewhat, and her pale eyes stared through John's visor as if it wasn't even there.

"The Flood are capable of attacking artificial intelligences," she whispered. "Once the Gravemind reaches a certain size, it has enough power to-" She broke off, and her stare lost its strength as she focused on something else. "- but that's impossible..."

"'Gravemind'?"

"Yes," she said in irritation. "The Flood's god, their hivemind. We need to destroy this ship. We can't let it keep growing, Chief."

John frowned at her outburst, but nodded his affirmation. "How do we overload the reactors?"

"We'll need to head down to the engine room... give me a minute to get those doors open for you."

A couple minutes later, the door at the end of the hallway slid open, revealing an ongoing conflict between the Flood and the Sentinels. Beams of gold shot from the Sentinel's floating forms, striking the undead - but had little to no effect on the stolen armor encasing the corpses' bodies. Former Marines leapt through the air at superhuman heights and attacked the Sentinels in the air. John waited for them the numbers to dwindle before he sprinted through the fight. The ancient enemies were so preoccupied with each other that they could not afford any attention to be spent on him.

As he jogged down the hallways, guided by Cortana, John found himself thinking about the Gravemind. The deeper he got into the ship, the more body piles he noticed. At one location, an entire corner had been consumed by the Flood's mass; spindly tendrils choked the lighting fixtures and dug into the walls like roots through concrete. Cortana was curiously quiet when he stopped in front of the mass. To John, her uncharacteristic silence cause for worry.

"Cortana?" he spoke gently. He needed her to be focused on the mission at hand, and if she were concerned about an aspect of it, he needed to know.

He needed to know what could scare an A.I.; a being incapable of fear.

"It's nothing, Chief. Just theories."

"Theories about what?"

"Look, Master Chief. An A.I. gets used to the idea that they're untouchable - to a degree, of course. Anything that can destroy an A.I. would be impossible to escape from. An EMP, perhaps, or maybe a nuclear explosion. Either way, I'm not going to lie to you: it worries me that an organic creature would be able to access my core directly and _manipulate_me."

"We'll have destroyed the Flood before anything like that will happen," John countered. "Don't worry about it."

"Maybe. But..."

"Cortana."

"There might be more. We might win here, but who knows if-"

"_Cortana_. We'll destroy Halo, we'll destroy the Flood. We'll worry about the 'others' later."

He was right, and she knew it.

* * *

The Master Chief picked at his food, watching the miniature canyons form as his fork dragged across the plastic. The meal was entirely tasteless, but he hadn't eaten that day yet, and he would have caught an earful for avoiding eating - even if the food tasted like the plastic it sat on.

_Didn't she teach you every lesson?_

Earth sat heavily below the ship. It was so oddly massive at this distance that it seemed better to note space instead - how it framed the blue marble of a planet, how it was gently dappled with stars, how it had switched places with the Earth's position in his eyes. The night sky had always been the incomprehensibly massive figure. Even if he'd spent countless hours in the orbits of other planets, of other installations, he would always know that space would be infinitely bigger, even if all he saw in a massive view screen was an ocean.

Even now he couldn't even begin to grasp that he was staring down at a planet, populated by millions of individuals.

The sun's light reflecting off the blue marble below him was his only source of light. He started intentionally digging the fork into the plate, watching the way the shadows deepened the scars in the plastic.

When was the last time he'd had a hot meal?

It had to have been back on the _Pillar of Autumn._

_Four years ago._

It was unsettling to consider that it had been four years since Alpha Halo. It was unsettling to consider that it had been four years since _High Charity_. It was unsettling to consider that it had been four years since Johnson had died, since Miranda Keyes and her father died, since Reach fell and he had lost his family. Four years ago, he had gone into cryosleep, and a week ago, he woke up.

A week ago, he had crash-landed on Requiem.

Five days ago, he had been fighting a beyond-ancient Forerunner warrior in orbit around Earth.

Three days ago, he had been in a high security debriefing room, pinned by a spotlight as a dozen of the higher-ups passed judgment on his decision to disobey Captain Del Rio.

The Master Chief stared down at Earth and watched the oceans, and the clouds casting shadows on a golden continent. He put his plate down on the bench beside him, and forgot about it.

The observation deck was chilly, reminding him that he was no longer housed in his armor. He'd always felt naked without the suit, but now it was especially pronounced. Now he just felt empty.

John felt the corner of his mouth lift in a slight smile. Yesterday he'd received word from the technicians, via Tom Lasky, that they were mystified by the unauthorized tampering with some of his suit's firmware. They were still trying to archive the altered code the last time he'd heard. He hadn't mentioned that Cortana was the reason for the tampering.

The smile fell.

Four years was a long time. The Master Chief was still trying to grasp that he'd been under synthetic sleep for such a while. He was still trying to grasp that the Covenant War was over, that he had no concrete purpose anymore.

Four years ago, Alpha Halo had been destroyed, and hundreds of UNSC soldiers had been lost, and an ancient plague had been released. His brothers and sisters had died on Reach. Miranda had died, and Johnson, and Jacob Keyes.

_Winning isn't everything._

Jacob Keyes' enigmatic statement to the Master Chief, four years ago, had left him guessing for days afterward. What else was there but winning? No matter what was lost, it was pivotal that he - and his team - had won, because in the long run, the winners survived. History remembered the winners of a war, not the losers, and the winners survived evolution; not the losers. He'd been taught this his entire life and he'd never been given a chance to doubt it. Spartans didn't lose.

Somewhere along the lines, doubt began.

It started with a ringing in his chest, echoing hollowly in his wounds. There was no way he could have saved Johnson or Miranda or Jacob. He couldn't have anticipated that Guilty Spark would turn on Johnson; couldn't have known that Miranda would try to take on Truth herself; couldn't have known what the Flood were capable of. But that didn't relieve his grief.

_Could he have saved Cortana?_

At what point would he win? At what point would the losing stop, would the sacrifices cease?

_Would he ever win?_

And then, three days ago, he ran out of things that could be lost.

Three days ago, John learned that winning wasn't everything.


End file.
